User blog comment:Brigadier Barty/Redwall Wars: A Deadly Turn/@comment-2246928-20150429212034/@comment-2246928-20150603234131

The whip went down again. And again, each time scoring another bloody whipmark across the squirrel's scarred flesh. And again. And again. The weasel paused right before she raised the whip to land a sixth blow, and sneered. "Yew're never gettink off dis mizzruble vreck vit your life, sqvirrel. Yew'll stay 'ere an' rot until yew die from old age, collapse from overvorkink, starve to deat', die from madness an' sickness, or yew die chained 'ere as de ship finally sinks beneat' de cold, dark vaves an' yew drown watchink de rest of your comrades die, vit deir screams echoink in yer ears. 'N' y'll curse de day yew didn't slash yore own vrists or plunge a dagger in yore chest afore we ever managed to catch yew."